


Lovely

by Celandine



Category: King's Speech (2010)
Genre: F/F, Ficlet, Infidelity, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-14
Updated: 2011-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-15 16:13:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celandine/pseuds/Celandine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myrtle's afraid that she might have offended the Queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovely

**Author's Note:**

> Follows "Sauce for the Goose," although it's not necessary to have read that drabble.

"What's sauce for the gander ought to be sauce for the goose, too."

Myrtle heard the words spill out of her mouth. She wanted to crawl under the piecrust table and hide, she was so mortified at having said such a thing to the Queen.

Her Majesty might have an amused tolerance of her husband's behavior with Lionel, but that was far from wanting to do anything of the sort herself. Elizabeth was a lovely friendly woman, considering her position, but it was clear that she never forgot what that was, Myrtle thought miserably, looking at the Queen's upright posture at the far end of the sofa.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Forgive me, ma'am," said Myrtle. She bowed her head. "I'm afraid I've drunk far too much wine and said what should never have been said. I do apologize. Please forget I said anything."

"Forget?" repeated Elizabeth. "No, I don't think so."

"Oh, ma'am!" Myrtle could have cried, visions of the Queen telling the King, and the King dismissing Lionel, filling her head. " _Please_ , ma'am, I am most dreadfully sorry."

"You misunderstand me," said Elizabeth. She reached out one small hand and laid it on Myrtles wrist. "Mrs. Logue… Does Mr. Logue tell you about his sessions with Bertie?"

"N-not in any detail," stammered Myrtle, aware of the irony that she had trouble speaking just now. The Queen's fingertips were cool against her skin, yet they sent heat coursing through her body. She had not felt like this since the early days of her marriage. "It wouldn't be suitable. Lionel never tells me particulars about his clients; he didn't even tell me that the King was one of them, as you know, until I discovered it by accident."

"Bertie doesn't tell me much either, but I can imagine." Elizabeth stroked Myrtle's palm. "He is always quite… amorous… later. Rather surprisingly so."

"Oh?" Myrtle's voice spiraled upward. She pressed her thighs together, feeling the wetness beginning to seep there. "Yes… Lionel is much the same."

"I expected he would be."

Elizabeth's eyes seemed to have grown larger, and Myrtle realized it was because the Queen had edged closer.

"Don't you ever wonder what it would be like?" whispered Elizabeth, just before her lips touched Myrtle's.

The Queen tasted sweetly of the wine they had shared. When Myrtle's hand rose to cup her cheek, it was soft, so unlike Lionel's that she made a startled noise against Elizabeth's mouth.

"Oh, _ma'am_ ," she breathed when Elizabeth drew back. "That was lovely. _You_ are lovely."

"Why, thank you. So are you," said Elizabeth, and kissed Myrtle again.

This time Myrtle dared to let her lips part, and felt the Queen's tongue slip between them. A shiver went down her spine as she responded.

A long dreamy time later, Myrtle found herself suckling Elizabeth's breasts. Her right hand caressed the damp silk between the Queen's thighs and Elizabeth moaned.

"Mrs. Logue!"

"Myrtle," said Myrtle firmly against the smooth skin. If _this_ could not put them on a first-name basis… She stroked a little faster, rubbing circles with her fingertips, and felt Elizabeth tremble beneath her.

She ached with her own unsatisfied longing. She didn't quite dare ask the Queen to touch her in return, so instead she pressed her thighs together rhythmically, hoping that would be enough.

After a moment Elizabeth apparently recognized what Myrtle was doing, for she murmured, "Here," and nudged Myrtle's legs apart. Her touch was gentle – too gentle, teasingly so. Myrtle couldn't stop herself. She pushed down against Elizabeth's hand, seeking the greater pressure that allowed her to reach her climax, shaking with it until she feared she would tumble from the sofa onto the floor.

She moved to sit up, to straighten her clothing and help the Queen put herself to rights as well. Shyly she touched Elizabeth's wrist.

"Will you tell your husband?" Elizabeth asked.

"I don't know." Myrtle had not yet considered that. She knew that Lionel loved the King, knew that affection had been expressed physically – even if she was not privy to the details – and she thought he would understand her own attraction to the Queen, but she wasn't certain. "Will you?"

"I think so." Elizabeth gave Myrtle a smile that could only be described as conspiratorial. "It might amuse him. Another man – that he would not appreciate, but you? Yes, I think Bertie might enjoy knowing, if only to feel that I cannot hold Mr. Logue against him, as it were."

"Yes, I see what you mean," said Myrtle. "I suppose that I will tell Lionel, then."

"Do. And I shall tell Bertie that if he has Lionel here again, you must come too."

"Of course," Myrtle promised.


End file.
